


Hey, Nor. Kiss me?

by Peanutsfan1



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Dennor crazy Christmas schenangians, I can't get enough of these oblivious dorks, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:15:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28318071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peanutsfan1/pseuds/Peanutsfan1
Summary: '"Hey, Nor. Kiss me?" I'm sorry, did you say 'kill me' because I'll happily oblige.'DenNor Christmas one-shot, what can I say except these two are such oblivious dorks and I love them so so much XD
Relationships: Denmark/Norway (Hetalia)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	Hey, Nor. Kiss me?

Norway

If someone had told me that on Christmas day Denmark would be constantly bugging me, I'd say what else is new? It was not unusual for me to spend days rolling my eyes at the excitable nation, so why would Christmas be any different? But I guess you could say it was. Because of that one damn question. Every sentence pointed towards me today from him was that one damn question. He'd stand there, a smug grin on his face, mistletoe in hand and say: "Hey, Nor. Kiss me?" And every time my answer was a flat-out no. What does he think we are, married? It's not like I'm even in a relationship with him. We're just friends (and, on his insistence, best friends). So why? Why does he keep asking that damn question? Is it to annoy me? (Because if so, he is doing a fine job)

I thought Christmas was supposed to be a time of peace yet today has been nothing but that. What does he hope to achieve? My fist in his face? Actually, that's a good idea. Let's see if he reawakens the Viking in me. It’s been sleeping for far too long. Perhaps he'll stop if I grab that axe he presents so proudly on the mantlepiece and cut his head clean off his body. At least it would take a couple of days for him to regenerate said head, so I'll get extra peace.

Sounds tempting.

It seems I'm muttering under my breath because my lillebror nudges me and asks if I'm alright in the head. I turn to him, sighing and go, "Ask the fucking Dane," loud enough so everyone in the room can hear. Sverige raises his eyebrows and goes back to fawning over Finland (he doesn't seem surprised- I guess that's what happens when you are recovering from centuries of fighting). Fin, on the other hand, stares at me with a clear expression of 'what the fuck'. Like he'd understand the hell I'm going through. All he’s had to deal with is an overly doting man (though he’s too oblivious to realise Sverige is hopelessly in love with him). My brother tries to disguise his laughter as coughing, it doesn't quite work. So that's what you need to do to make him laugh. Of course it is. 

And  him . He just sits there oh so innocently, bushy eyebrows raised like he has no idea what I'm on about. Denmark, in all his annoyingness, gets up and walks over to me, a present in hand. Oh no. No no no no no no. I'd completely forgotten he hadn't given me his gift yet. Thor. Odin. Someone. Anyone. Just save me from this. 

Unfortunately, no one does, and I continue to wish for some being up there to smite me. Silently, he hands the gift over and my face must be priceless because Ice is on the verge of rolling around the floor laughing. I glare at the Dane, his expression blank as if he were Sverige. He doesn't react to my death glare. Of course he doesn't. Dreading the contents of said gift, I gingerly start to unwrap it. Please no. Please no. Please no. Anything but fucking mistletoe.

The Gods don't come through.

Inside the box, is (and here's my complete and utter surprise) mistletoe. Yep. That settles it. I'm grabbing the axe and beheading this man.

"Hey, Nor. Kiss me?" I'm sorry, did you say 'kill me’ because I'll happily oblige.

Rising to my feet, I vow to finally put an end to this shit. Normally I enjoy Denmark’s company, not that I would ever admit that, but this is too much. He’s driving me insane. And yet he still smiles blissfully, holding up the Yuletide plant which has such a stupid tradition behind it. A stupid tradition that he’s making me take part in. That I want nothing to do with.

Time to put an end to this.

Just lift your hand and punch him in the arm. Just do that and he’ll get the message. My hand rises, ready to become a fist and carry my thoughts and feelings on this pointless gambit. You can do it, Norway. Just do it.

But my hand never becomes a fist, and my message gets lost. Suddenly, I have no control over my body as my arm slinks around his shoulders, and I start leaning inwards. No. No no no no no no no. This cannot be happening. Why am I not punching him in the arm? Why am I leaning in to kiss him? What is going on? Instead, our lips connect, and I’ve played right into his hand. My brain tries to create a clear line of thought but all that comes out is ‘Den has soft lips’ and nothing else. But it’s true. ‘Den has soft lips’ is all I think and my brain short circuits. His hands are around my waist, mine intertwined in his hair, my thoughts are still a mess. Denmark has soft lips.

We pull away, a smirk working its way onto his face amidst the breathlessness. My mouth opens but no sound comes out, no thoughts stringing themselves together in my head. Denmark has soft lips. I catch a glimpse of some of the other Nordics, a reaction finally appearing on Sverige’s face. Surprise. That goes for Fin too. They are just surprised. To be fair, I am too. Finally, after all that effort, words finally tumble out of my mouth, my mouth as dry as a desert and I have to choke them out, “There. You happy now?” Denmark has soft lips. I lock eyes with the crazy haired Dane again, the smirk still visible on his face, “Very.” Pursing my lips, I maintain eye contact as I say, “Now you can quit bothering me.” And with that, I flop back down onto the sofa, hoping this never gets spoken about ever again.

*

I wish that were the case. However, like all things, that would not be the last time I would hear those words. It has been a few weeks since Christmas day and I thought I was free.

How wrong I was.

As he handed me my coffee, he uttered those dreaded words, words I had hoped would be scrubbed clean from my memory, “Hey, Nor. Kiss me?” He says it so simply, like he’s asking nothing of me, when we both know that he is. Why? What’s his obsession with this joke? It’s not funny to me. I don’t get why he keeps doing this. This time though, I will put an end to it. “No, Denmark, I will not kiss you. Christmas was a mistake, you hear me? I am not going to kiss you.” His expression remains unchanging, a grin still plastered all over his cheeks, causing his freckles to move position in great masses.

“Hey, Nor. Kiss me?” He’s like a fucking parrot. Oh. My. God. Can he just stop? What’s his aim? If it is to annoy me he’s doing a splendid job. “Will you shut up if I comply? And never ask me again?” I can’t believe I’m considering this. I mean, his lips are surprisingly soft and sweet so kissing him is actually quite nice. But if I wanted to kiss Denmark, I would do it myself. Not through this. Not by this stupid question that he keeps repeating like a broken clock.

“I can only guarantee one of those things, Norway.” Denmark smiles again, his endless grin is actually cute. No, Norway! Stop this! You seriously can’t be considering this! And yet I am. The gap between the two was three weeks so if I comply, surely he’ll get bored. Once he gets bored he’ll quit bothering me about this. Sighing, I bring my lips to his once more, the kiss once more making my thoughts become static. And that concludes the second time I kissed my crazy haired (best)friend.

Denmark

To be totally honest, this whole kissing thing started out as a joke. Sure, I’ve always wondered what it would be like to kiss Norway, but I didn’t actually expect that he would kiss me. All I wanted was to see how far I could push him; see how much I could annoy him before he snapped.

But he didn’t. He kissed me. Twice. And both times were amazing. Not to sound cliché but I felt like I was floating on air. I admit it, I may have a slight crush on Norway. I have for a while. So for him to actually kiss me… it’s like a dream come true. Like something out of a fairytale. A figment of the imagination. So… perhaps I don’t want this to end just yet. We’ll never end up together. He would never see me like that. He doesn’t even admit that we are best friends. Why would he date me? That’s why I want to stretch this out for as long as I can. It’s wrong, I know, but I can’t help it. 

I approach him once more, repeating the same words that I’ve used both times, “Hey, Nor. Kiss me?” His eyes meet mine, serious expression unwavering. Until his hand brushes my cheek, and our lips lock once more. Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit. Straight away? No fighting? Just kissing me straight away? Wow. As usual, it’s like my body starts lifting off of the ground, his arms round me causing a state of total euphoria.

I wish I could tell you how I feel, Norway. I wish our relationship could go beyond this weird jokey-flirting thing.

But for now, I’ll take what I’ve got.

Every single kiss.

Every eyeroll.

All of it.

I’ll take every last second with you.

Norway

Months have passed since Denmark and I shared our first kiss on Christmas day. What I thought would eventually die down became a habit. It became a normal thing for him to look over at me and ask for a kiss. After a while I quit complaining and just leaned into it. Denmark is a good kisser, so I guess it doesn’t bother me too much anymore. It got to the point where my brain doesn’t even register his words. As soon as I hear “Hey, Nor” I know that’s my cue to plant my lips on his. And it’s begun to work the other way around too.

Just right now he’s leaning over the kitchen countertop, an adorable smile plastered on his face, about to finish making a cup of coffee. “Hey, Den. Kiss me?” He glances up at me, now grinning and immediately makes his way over. Denmark’s arm slips around my waist and it’s so hard not to melt inside. God, he’s so cute. He pulls me closer and my hands go up into his hair, once more feeling the fluffiness of it. Our lips finally meet, my brain going numb again. Denmark has soft lips. It’s always so surprising for some reason, maybe because I’m not expecting my brain to short circuit every single time. Denmark has soft lips.

The want for more is overwhelming, so I give into my desires and pull him tighter, kissing him hard. Denmark has fucking soft lips. The kiss becomes even more passionate when his tongue slides into my mouth and I let him and we’re making out. I’m making out with Denmark. Denmark’s making out with me. Holy shit it’s incredible.

Over these past few months I really have fallen completely head-over-heels in love with him, huh. Never expected that to happen. But it did. And now I’m here, powerless to stop the way I feel from consuming me. I love Denmark. And that’s a thing I’d never thought I’d say. I love him so goddamn much.

“Can you two quit making out? I’m trying to get to the fucking fridge, for fuck’s sake!” And the spell is broken. Denmark removes his mouth from mine, to look at whoever’s just arrived. I have no idea. My brain is still mush. I didn’t even make out what they said, all I could hear was words being spoken. I crane my head to see who it is. Oh, it’s my younger brother. That makes sense. Only he would swear that much. Well, apart from Finland if he’s pissed and/or stubbed his toe. He’s glaring at us, then glances at the fridge which I was just pushed up against. Whoops.

“And Dan. Let this be a warning to you. Get your fucking hand out from underneath my brother’s top,” His glare hardens, “Or I’ll fucking murder you.” Denmark’s hand is, what? Oh, turns out my shirt has ridden up, his hand placed on my cold, bare skin. Denmark’s hand is underneath my top.  _ Oh _ -

Shit. Good thing Denmark’s still looking at Ice because I’m pretty sure my face has just turned scarlet. If he had done that months ago  I would’ve murdered him. But no. Due to my apparent feelings for the human version of a golden retriever puppy I do nothing of the sorts. All I do is fall harder. Goddammit Kongeriket Norge. Have some self-control for God’s sake!

But I don’t do anything. All I do is stare lovingly up at the crazy haired man, smiling. Our eyes lock, and he grins in response, seemingly forgetting my brother. “Dan. You have on the count of three to get your hands off my brother.” Something finally clicks, his hand retreats and I pull out of his embrace. I come face to face with Ice who says nothing but “Good” and then retrieves whatever he came in here for from the fridge, still glaring heavily at Denmark.

I decide to get away from the awkwardness by strolling into the living room, hoping that the chaos doesn’t follow me. I come face to face with Fin and Sverige (still being oblivious idiots, I see)(just tell him you love him for fuck’s sake), praying that my face isn’t still beet red. Sverige and I don’t do much but nod at each other. As usual. But then, Iceland strides in, a glass of water in hand. Goddammit. I thought that awkwardness wouldn’t follow me. I was wrong. Typical. Denmark follows close behind. For fuck’s sake. I can’t escape this shit.

“I found these two making out in front of the fridge,” Ice rolls his eyes, deciding to announce the entire situation to Fin and Sverige, “I get that you two are dating but can you chill?” He sips his drink whilst the sentence sinks into my brain. Wait- what- Dating- I- What? “I- Ice, Nor and I aren’t dating. Where on earth did you get that idea?” That’s what I’d like to know too.

“What do you mean you’re not dating? Haven’t you been for the past few months?” Fin chips in, a puzzled expression decorating his features, his nose crinkled. “No. We certainly have not.” I reply, getting more confused by the second. “Did you all think that Den and I were dating?” In response to this they all refuse to meet my gaze. “Honestly,” Sverige begins, taking a deep breath, “You two hug, kiss, hold hands, make out, sleep in the same bed sometimes… and we thought you were dating. Seemed obvious.”

The heat is rising to my face again, perhaps from embarrassment. I don’t know. My thoughts are a mess. Why is my face so red? Maybe it’s the fact that the rest of the Nordic personifications thought I have been dating the very man I have a huge crush on for months. “I- we’re not. That- that’s just a joke-” Den stammers, struggling to form a sentence for the first time in his life, “Wait- is that why Belarus at the most recent world meeting congratulated us? She said she was, and I quote, ‘really happy’ for the both of us.”

Holy shit. Everyone thinks we’ve been dating this whole time. And I’m trying not to focus on the fact that Den said this was all just a joke, I can’t let my heart be crushed. Not now. Not after everything. Not after the fact that we just heavily made out. No. Focus on something else. Anything else. Just not on that. “Germany also said something like that, remember? He said that we were- that we were- really cute together.” It’s not much, but it’s something to distract me. “Holy shit,” he breathes, taking me by the hand. It’s taking everything within me to not collapse into a blushing, stuttering mess right now.

Not letting go of my hand, he drags me out of the room. You see, it’s stuff like this Den which is making them all think that we are in a romantic relationship with each other. He doesn’t let go until we are in his room, and we sit down on the Danish flag bedspread.

“So… this is just a joke? I mean, I wouldn’t know how to describe it but… not a joke.” Our eyes lock, he’s looking oddly serious for once, even before I started talking. There… I said it. God, what hole am I digging myself? At least I’ll find out how Denmark truly feels about me. The sooner I know, the sooner I can rid myself of these stupid romantic feelings and move on. “I-” He glances down at his jeans, a hand fiddling with his hair, the tips of his ears turning a pale pink. “I don’t know why I said it was a joke. It’s more than that but, um, we don’t even know what this is. I- I don’t know how to describe it too.” Don’t read into the ‘more than that’ Norway. Don’t. You’ll only cause yourself more pain. 

“I can’t believe everyone thinks we’re dating. Can you imagine?” He laughs slightly, twirling his hair more, making eye contact once and then looking away quickly. The tips of his ears have gone redder now. He’s flustered, embarrassed, slightly regretting his actions.

He’s absolutely adorable. Then again, he always is.

What am I supposed to say to that? I- I have no idea. “Yeah”, I laugh nervously, trying to pass it off as a normal laugh, “You’d make me coffee whenever I need it, hug me when I’m down or stressed. I’d try my hardest to make you happy, I mean, you know I don’t feel comfortable voicing my feelings a lot of the time, but I’d try my hardest and I’d probably hug you a lot too. That is- you know- if we were, um, dating.” My face heats up further, as do his ears. Oh God. Why are we going down this route. This is just going to end in pain.

“Hey, Nor…” He begins, scratching the side of his head, finally maintaining eye contact for a long period of time. His eyes are clear and blue, and I find myself getting lost in them. I don’t cut him off with a kiss this time. Something’s telling me I’ve got to hear him out first. I don’t know what it is. But I listen.

“Date me?”

I- WHAT-

Did he just?

Oh my God.

Oh my absolute fucking God.

“I- I- Uh- Um-” I begin to scramble for words. Denmark wants to date me. Denmark. Wants to date. Me. What. On. Earth. Is. Happening. “Nor?” He waves his hand in front of my face, a slight look of worry and concern. He’s regretting it. I can tell. Fuck. Mouth, why won’t you work now of all times? Your dream guy is asking you out. Denmark is asking you out.

“Hey, Den… I’d love to.”

The words finally escape the cage that is my mouth. It’s done. You did it. Well done, Norway. You did it. It’s over now. 

A smile creeps across his features, spreading wider and wider. 

All he does is pull me close, first into a hug, later into a kiss, picking up where we left off. Adrenaline is coursing throughout my body, the rush of finally defining what this is.

After that, Denmark no longer repeats that phrase.

He doesn’t need to.

But every once in a while, he will utter out a small, “Hey, sweetie. Kiss me?” and I will happily oblige, pulling my boyfriend into me.

Life has never been better.

I love my crazy dork so so much. 

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this planned for a couple of months now, and the actual finished one-shot has been sitting collecting dust for about a week so I'm glad to finally post this.
> 
> Merry Christmas to all who celebrate, and if you don't, I wish that you have a great day! :)


End file.
